


The Small Hours

by Medie



Series: Mating Games 2014 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mating Games 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the Nogitsune, sometimes, he still dreams about and, being Stiles, he can be stubborn about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Small Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Mating Games 2014 Beast Within challenge.

He gets into the habit of falling asleep on the couch. It's not that he hates his room now, except, well, maybe he does a little. It's too empty without Derek up there and, worse, he's been dreaming about After lately.

There's only one After for Stiles: when every blink of his eyes made the memory of carnage and bodies sharper in his mind. The never-ending movie of the Nogitsune's kills playing out over and over in his head.

The nightmares had been _choice_. It'd been a week before he could try sleeping and not puke up dinner.

It's not that bad now, but it's not good either. The late nights in the preserve mean there's no warmth to curl into, no voice to sooth away the demon's claws, and Stiles just can't face the bedroom alone.

So the couch.

The first few times, he's awake and up before Derek makes it into the house. He usually manages to be puttering around the kitchen by the time boots hit floor and lips brush his neck, but he knows he's not fooling anybody.

Least of all himself.

Still, he kisses Derek goodbye in the afternoon, spends the rest of the evening working, then makes a cup of coffee and goes for the couch. The blanket Melissa and Dad made for him is waiting and he curls up to watch Jaws.

He falls asleep to the sound of Quint's nails on the chalkboard (whatever, it works).

The dreams are empty, ominous for what he can't see more than what he can, and he wakes up a few times with a hand outstretched. He's never quite sure what he's reaching for, but he can almost feel it, and the last time he drifts off, he can almost hear someone crying.

Maybe him.

When he wakes next, there's a hand pressed against his back and the steady rhythm of a heart beating beneath his ear. He doesn't look up, just takes a slow, deep breath and tries hard to melt into Derek's body.

"You could have told me, you know," Derek says, after a while, his hand starting a slow arc up and down Stiles' back.

It should relax him, but he just squirms into it. "Could have; didn't."

Derek snorts. "No point in asking why, right?"

Stiles looks up at him, grinning when he's rewarded with a quick flash of blue eyes. He barely has a second before they're moving, him punctuating it with a yelp, and Derek's pressing him down into the couch. It's totally not fair of him to do that, he _knows_ what it does to Stiles, but that's kind of the point and, heyyyyy, claws at the shorts. Claws at the shorts.

Claws _inside_ the shorts.

"Careful with those," he warns, but his heart's already racing and he knows Derek can read him as easy as any book. He loves this. It's a guaranteed argument-winner with Stiles any day of the week. (Except when it isn't. Shut up, he can have layers.)

"Why?" Derek asks and his grin hints at teeth still hidden. Stiles bites his lip and pushes up into him. "Afraid?"

No.

Stiles looks at him, blue-eyed, not-quite changed, and no, he's not. Which, yeah, totally the whole point here. Some days, still, he can't trust himself, but he can always, always trust this and he pulls Derek down into a kiss.

The hand in his shorts curls around him, jacks in a awkward rhythm, but that's good. Right. They can't get the right angle with Derek pressing him down like this, but Stiles isn't going to let him move and they both know it.

Reluctant, Derek lets him go in favour of holding his hands instead. He presses them, one-handed, back over Stiles' head and leans into kiss him. Claws prick at his skin, counterpoint to the slow grind of Derek's body against his and Stiles lets himself get lost in it. He needs this, fuck how he needs this, drifting on the pleasure, the presence, and the certainty of safety right here and right now.

Claws dig into his hands and Derek grinds down hard enough to make his head swim. "Afraid?" he repeats, quieter this time.

Stiles shakes his head.

Derek kisses him.

"Next time? Tell me."

He won't, but for now, he knows Derek will let him have the lie.


End file.
